


Back on the Bus

by chooken



Series: Worth Watching [1]
Category: Westlife
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Tour Bus, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 10:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19332637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Mark's sure Nicky's teasing him on purpose





	Back on the Bus

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's been a while. I'm currently stalking the lads on tour and enjoying all their adorable, slashy moments. Got some long ones I'm working on but here's a spot of porn to keep me in the game.
> 
> See ya at Croke!

It's already started when Mark opens his eyes.

He's sure that Nicky does it on purpose, honestly. At first he'd thought it was just coincidence, Mark waking at exactly the wrong time. They've all done it, all been caught, at that. Crammed on a bus, late at night, and needing something to nod off to sleep. Whether it's a sneaky rub in the bus toilet or turning towards the wall when everyone else is out and biting the pillow, Mark sure as hell knows he's been as guilty as the others. It's natural. A bit embarrassing, but he'll never begrudge someone a wank.

This isn't just a wank.

This is a fucking tease.

He can hear it when it starts. Knows the signs of it by now. They're both bottom bunk, usually are. Shane and Kian dibsed the top ones at some point in the past and it's stayed the status quo since they switched to a bus with four beds instead of five. Mark doesn't mind. Knows Nicky doesn't really either.

First, Nicky clears his throat. It's a sign. An alert that if Mark wants to listen in, wants to watch, now is the time. He's not sure if it's Nicky's kink, being watched, or if he's trying to invite something, but Mark certainly isn't going to stop him. Lord, no.

Mark's eyes open, stare up at the blank bottom of the bunk above. He can hear sheets rustling, hear them being peeled back.

A soft breath, gasped in. Mark blinks, his own hand creeping down under the sheets to adjust himself. It's automatic, now. When he hears Nicky clear his throat, there he is at half-mast. It's crippling when Nicky does it in meetings, right before he wants to speak. Sometimes when he smirks Mark thinks he knows, and does it on purpose.

But slow exhale. In again. It's quickening. Not in pleasure, but in anticipation. The slow move of a stroke. When he looks over, Nicky's eyes are open. And for the first time since this started, they're looking at him.

Mark swallows.

Catches his gaze for a moment. It's an odd feeling, like holding his hand under a too-hot stream of water and playing chicken until it almost burns him. The burn comes the moment a tongue darts out. Lick to lips that look swollen in the dim, though perhaps that's just the shadows. The ones making Nicky's eyelashes look impossibly long as they flutter slightly. As Mark darts from eye-contact and looks down.

Soft grunt. Can't see for the sheets pooled at Nicky's hips but can see the movement of his hand. The way Nicky's bare chest swells and his head tips back slightly at a deep, luxurious breath. He's not sure if Nicky's naked or if his boxers have just been pushed down but either way he can see the curve of a hip, the temptation of swell as Nicky rolls onto his side, head pillowing into his arm, crooked on the pillow. Nuzzles into his own elbow, a cheeky smirk playing over lips that part for another lick then purse. Looking down at himself, where Mark can't quite see. Hidden in the folds of the sheet.

Their eyes catch again. Mark's rolled on his side too. Not sure when. Knows his mouth is agape. Maybe Nicky's never looked at him like this but he's never looked back either. Has been quite content with the terrifying surreptition of listening in. Sneaking the occasional glance. Maybe looking at him after, when Nicky's asleep, and trying to find some evidence beyond the scrunched up tissues in the nearby wastepaper bin.

It's not watching Nicky's spare hand lift to his mouth. The lascivious suck on his own fingers that takes a moment to tongue the tips as he pulls away and sinks back down again. Mark swears, internally, sees a filthy quirk in the corner of that smile that he thinks might have heard it.

Fingers pull away. Trace a hard line down Nicky's throat, hand spreading in a moment's strangle before finding the line of his collarbone, a path he traces lazily for a moment then rivulets down to his nipple. Muscles twitch. He's peaked there. Fingers pressing a hard circle then a pinch, as if to show Mark just how he likes it. Lip caught under a hiss of teeth. Rolling slightly forward to allow his fist to rest on the mattress while he fucks it slow. Grinds his cheek into the pillow like he might into a shoulder, vulnerable beneath him.

Mark closes his eyes. Hears Nicky breathe. Rasping and quickened by every stroke. Revving an expensive engine that purrs as it rolls under its own power.

When he opens Nicky is no longer looking at him. Has his face buried in the pillow, to muffle what noise isn't the slight creak of the mattress.

Mark gulps. Wants to get up. Push the sheets down. See something that isn't just the heave of shoulders. The stutter of hips. Fucking himself and groaning into the pillow.  Face turning back and eyes _wild_. Mark whimpers. Sees teeth catch the pillowslip then snarl apart.

 _Uh_ Nicky breathes. _Uh uh uh_. Clears his throat again and Mark does the same. Sees a cheeky grin that parts as Nicky looks down at himself. Looks up at Mark again. Mouth forming an O.

 _Oh Jesus_ , Mark mumbles. Nicky's eyes roll back. Teeth catch his lips before he begins that open-mouthed panting again. Mark knows that noise. Hears it when they're in the gym together and has to hide his arousal because.

Fuck.

Nicky whispers his name. Mark tries to keep his eyes open. Is grateful a moment later when he sees the scrunch of blue, heavy eyes, that silent gape of a cry. Whole body shudder and Nicky just...

It's gorgeous. Absurd. A vulnerable, shaking moment where Nicky bends in on himself, wrist fast then slowing. A train coming into station. Fluttering and grinding and blinking moans that catch his gaze even as he goes dazed. As he glistens to a halt in the dim light and Mark has to stop himself from launching across the aisle and just.

Nicky stills. Breathing hard. His cheeks are flushed. Eyes blown and sleepy. His hand comes up, and as Mark watches he sucks in the fingers one by one, licking them clean.

The bus slows. Mark had forgotten it was moving.

It's the next morning Nicky sidles up at the queue for breakfast. Mark's trying to decide between poached and scrambled. A hand lands gently on his lower back.

“Morning,” Nicky says. Mark nods. “Scuse me.” He leans across, scoops up a mound of scrambled eggs and adds it to his plate. “Sleep alright?”

“Yeah. S'good.” He feels stupid. Nicky grins.

“Really? Thought I noticed you up?”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. Hard to tell with the sheets in the way though.” They've shuffled sideways. “Croissant?”

“Um. Yes.” Nicky drops one onto each of their plates. “Thanks.”

“No bother. You get the next one.”

Nicky smirks and walks away. The buffet stares back at him. He blinks. Sees Kian and Shane on the other side, arguing about how the coffee machine works. Looks into his plate again.

“By the way.” It comes at his ear. He yelps, turns to face Nicky, who's smirking. “You lose your sheets, I'll lose mine.”

Saunters off. Actually fucking saunters. Mark stares after him. Catches a grin over a slender shoulder that deserves pinning to the carpet.

That's Nicky's game? Fine.

They're back on the bus tomorrow, after all.


End file.
